my plastic rose garden
so tell me its not ugly; that you think its just lovely...in your curt, up-right-mammal fashion; so gloriously done-up with self-righteous indignation---i can picture that scowl, feeling elevation.
why dont the things i see in my head match with whats before my eyes?
and everytime this happens, a little piece of me dies?

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shhh!...can you hear it?...the sound of nervous silence...